Her father wasn’t booting her out, he’d assured her. Heather snorted. Right. . . . She got that he wanted some time alone with his bride. To be fair, she couldn’t deny his argument that she needed to go to the shore for her work. But he was still firmly, albeit lovingly and generously, forcing Heather to leave the family home. She glanced over at her father.
David Wyatt’s considerable frame filled the driver’s seat. He was a big man in stature but had a gentle spirit. He slouched comfortably, one long arm extended over the wheel, idly moving his fingers in time to the country ballad on the CD. His salt-and-pepper hair was expertly trimmed—short enough to befit his position as a bank executive and long enough to still be attractive to women. By any standard, David Wyatt was a handsome man, and as a widower, he’d been the most desired bachelor in Charlotte.
Until his recent marriage to Natalie Sanders.
Heather shifted in the seat to wrap her arms tightly around herself. Whenever she thought of her father’s marriage, she felt an acute sense of betrayal. Not only because her father was allowing some stranger to take her mother’s place as Mrs. Wyatt, but because her new stepmother was twenty years younger than her father. That made the woman more a contemporary, and it made Heather feel downright strange to think of Natalie as her mother—even her stepmother. She shuddered at the word.
Her father pressed on the accelerator and shifted to the left lane, passing several cars as the big engine roared.
“Daddy, don’t speed,” Heather said through clenched teeth, her hands immediately dropping, bracing herself against the seat. “Please.”
David swung his head around to glance at his daughter. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark aviator shades. “I’m only doing seven miles per hour over the speed limit,” he said reasonably.
“Seven over the speed limit is still speeding,” she insisted plaintively, hating that she sounded like such a baby but powerless to stop. She was already wired after hours of holding herself together. “You know how much I hate speeding.”
“Honey, I’ll slow down, okay?” he said reassuringly. “Try to relax. Look”—he pointed out the windshield—“there’s the first sign for Charleston we’ve seen. Shouldn’t be too much longer now.” He craned his neck to get a peek at the sky. “Want to beat that rain.”
Heather looked up as a sudden barrage of fat raindrops splattered the windshield. She sucked in a breath.
“Now, come on, Heather,” her father said soothingly, noting her instantaneous reaction as he flicked on the windshield wipers. “We could use some rain, baby. It is spring, after all.” His tone was cajoling, and he turned his head and smiled in an attempt to calm her.
It wasn’t working. Lightning splintered the gray sky, followed by the guttural roar of thunder. Heather trembled as a rush of memories flooded her mind, as electrifying as the sky. Her heart beat in time to the accelerated metronome clicking of the wipers. Far ahead there appeared to be a veil of rain, and they were heading right for it. Traffic slowed and a line of brake lights went on for as far as she could see. She searched through the gray mist to read the road sign.
“The next exit is Orangeburg. Maybe we should take it. Get off the road,” she said in a shaky voice.
“We’re okay,” her father replied in a placating tone. “It’s just a cloudburst. It’ll pass.”
Sure enough, they drove straight into the downpour. It rained with such force, thundering on the car roof with a deafening roar, that they couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead. The wipers clicked to their fastest gear, whipping back and forth in a frenzy. Heather startled as another clap of thunder burst seemingly overhead. Her father’s smile was gone now. He slowed to a crawl and turned on the emergency blinker. Heather saw his fingers tighten on the steering wheel as he leaned forward, peering into the road ahead.
“Can’t see a damn thing.”
Wide-eyed with fear, Heather curled her legs up onto the seat while her mind flashed back to the horrible car accident with her mother. . . .
She’d been riding in the passenger seat that night, too. A similar cloudburst. The highway growing foggy and slick. It was the night of her high school graduation party. Her mother had come to pick her up because Heather had had too much to drink, but she’d been cool about it. She wasn’t a mother who lectured.
“Do you feel tipsy?” her mother had asked. When Heather had replied a nervous yes, her mother took it in stride. “Remember what that feels like, so next time you know when to stop.” Then with a smile she added, “Okay?”
“Okay,” Heather replied, grateful her mother was being so reasonable. It was her first offense, after all, and likely her last, the way her stomach was roiling. But she’d actually had a good time at the party—danced, laughed, felt like one of the crowd for once. “But to be honest, I kind of liked tipsy Heather. She’s a lot more fun. I mean, I actually talked to guys.”
Her mother turned her gaze from the road for an instant and smiled. “I happen to love Heather just the way she is.”
Well, that made one of them. Heather didn’t much care for the excruciatingly shy girl who usually clammed up around boys, especially those she liked. Who couldn’t get two words out without blushing. Most of the time she was standing alone in some corner, the classic wallflower. Heather preferred to be at home in her room with a good book. She’d successfully avoided parties throughout high school, but she had gone to this final hurrah for Mother’s sake. The fact that she wasn’t invited to many didn’t matter to Heather, but her vivacious, popular mother took it as a personal affront.
On that fateful night, the windshield wipers were clicking in a steady rhythm as they talked. Heather was so wrapped up in relating the highlights of the party she didn’t notice how heavily the rain was coming down until her mother hushed her.
“Hold that thought just a minute, honey,” her mother said, leaning forward over the steering wheel and peering out. “I need to concentrate.” She tsked with frustration. “I can’t see a thing.”
Heather sat up straighter in her seat at the tone of worry, and silently peered into the narrow cone of vision provided by the yellow beams of light. Her mother slowed the car to a crawl on the highway, the wipers now whipping back and forth at a frenzied speed.
“Only one exit more and we’ll be off the highway,” she said encouragingly.
Suddenly, out of the fog, a car was coming right for them, hydroplaning at an angle across the traffic lanes. Heather stiffened involuntarily, bracing for a hit. She pressed far back against her seat, her mouth opened in a silent scream as time seemed to slow down. The SUV was white and huge. Her mother swerved to get out of its way.
The last thing Heather remembered was her mother’s arm pressed against her chest, protecting her. . . .